


A Pink Triangle and a Gold Star

by JulisCaesar



Series: Through a Mirror, Brightly [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Queer Character, Rule 63, Trans Male Character, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulisCaesar/pseuds/JulisCaesar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erika Lehnsherr is used to her life. She flirts with her arch-nemesis, tries to take over the world, and puts down an internal rebellion or two.</p><p>And then a reporter announces that Charlotte Xavier is changing first names.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pink Triangle and a Gold Star

**Author's Note:**

> ...I was trying to finish one fic before starting another. I swear.
> 
> This is part of a much (much) larger Marvel fic/rewrite, which started as a simple Rule-63 "what if the Avengers had to deal with sexism" and then promptly fell down the queer rabbithole. And _then_ I went to see DoFP, got into X-men, started shipping this pair, and... this happened. Accidentally.

The strip of metal spun over and over in the air.

Erika stared at it, twisting it into a figure eight, then a spiral, then a Mobius strip. “Charles,” she said slowly, feeling the word in her mouth with the same fascination that she felt metal in her mind.

“Yes.”

The strip squashed into a ball, then a flat disc. “Fuck you.” Erika stuck her hands in her trouser pockets, wishing for her helmet. The buckles and zippers holding her leather outfit together were nice, but the helmet meant protection.

Her once-friend clicked something on the wheelchair, presumably to move it forward, but all it took was a flick from Erika’s mind to disable it. “Erika…”

“Stay there.” She hated the way her voice trembled.

A soft chuckle from behind her sparked more emotions: disgust, fondness, fear. “You have control of my chair. What else can I do?”

Erika felt herself shaking, dug her fingernails into her palms to try and stop it. “You fucking _had_ to, didn’t you? Had to get my attention. Well, you bloody well have it _now_.”

“You came the moment you heard?”

She was strangely relieved, because the uncertainty in that voice meant her mind was still her own, but the relief mixed with hatred and a dozen other emotions she wouldn’t put a name to. She spun anyway, facing the other occupant of the room for the first time. “Of course I did, you _bastard_!” She paused, still shaking. “Of course I did.”

The other looked up at her. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Charlotte.” The name slipped out, broken and sharp edged, formed in their years together and torn in the years apart.

It only took Erika a second to regret it, a second of watching the other’s face collapse, a second of seeing heart wrenching despair and loss, and she would tear all other ground from under her friend happily but she would never _ever_ again cause this, not even if it meant destroying the world first.

“Charles,” Erika said quietly, and then, even more quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Charles nodded, silent.

She twisted her fingers and the iron disk formed into a strip again, and then a triangle. Tossing it over at Charles, she turned for the window. “There. It’s not pink, but you should have one of your own.”

“Erika.”

She stopped, because she would always stop for that tone.

“Do you want me to apologize?”

“ _No!_ ” Her voice broke and she hated it; she felt emotions and she hated those too. “Never, Charles.” She turned slightly, just enough to look at him.

Charlotte— _Charles_ , because the image of her friend’s face was burned into her mind and she was never going to slip up again—Charles looked down, long hair falling into his face. “What do you want?”

They were in his bedroom, with the door firmly locked, and Erika had her hand on the windowsill, ready to leap out into the dark.

“I don’t—” She couldn’t go on, there was a horrible taste in the back of her throat, and it was usually Charlotte who sorted out misunderstandings but there was no Charlotte now and— “What do I call you? When talking about past you?” They weren’t the right words, but she didn’t know the right words, and as much as she normally took delight in discomforting people, she couldn’t do that now.

There was something disturbingly hopeful in Charles’s eyes, and a small part of Erika wanted to break him just to watch it die. “Charles. It’s retroactive.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Don’t apologize,” she said instead of anything more eloquent.

Charles made a disgruntled little noise that meant he was ignoring her.

“I mean it. Don’t you _dare_ apologize for being who you are.”

Charles snorted. “Since when do you care about what I am and am not comfortable with?” he asked.

Erika snorted. “You clearly don’t feel the same about me.”

To her disappointment, Charles didn’t flinch. Instead, he went very pale. “Is it because I’m transgender?”

It was Erika who flinched, stung and uncertain why. “What?”

“Something has you very upset.” Charles’s voice was tense and quiet, as if waiting for an explosion.

“And you think it’s because you’re _trans_?” This conversation was going nowhere predictable and she hated it, hated that she didn’t know what Charles was up to, hated that things had changed so much and yet still didn’t give her any advantage, hated that Charles had that broken tone in his voice again.

Charles nodded.

She had to laugh. It was absurd to the point of hilarious, the idea that _she_ would be upset at anyone for how they were born, the idea that even if she was, she would take it out on _Charles_ —

“You have a history of rage fuelled murders,” Charles said stiffly. “It was not unreasonable—”

“I have a history of killing _bigots_.” Erika stepped toward him, fiddling with the metal buckles on her uniform. “You’re naïve. You’re not a bigot.”

Charles smiled tightly. “What a compliment.”

Erika paused, turning over the implications. “You thought I was going to attack you?” She waited for a response; none came. She laughed again, bitterly. “I thought you _understood_. I don’t want you dead. You’re a _mutant_.”

“Careful,” Charles said quietly. “I might almost start to think you care.”

Erika snarled. “Angry at you? Yes. For being transgender? Bloody _hell_ , Charles, _never_!” Every piece of metal in the room rattled.

Charles looked up at her. “Then why?”

“You didn’t _tell me_ ,” she hissed, and the words were accidental, spilling out without her permission, but they were true, as true as anything else she said, it was true that the anger and the pain and the heartbreak, damnit, it was true that they were all from his _lies_.

There was a split second when incredulity flashed over Charles’s face, and if it had been any other time, she would have savoured it, but instead the shock burned her. He was a _telepath_ , he ought to know why she was so upset and if he didn’t, that was his fault, not hers. “I didn’t—”

But he’d missed his chance, Erika was _done_ with this discussion, done with his evasiveness, done with every single thing about this that made her remember she still had a heart. “ _No._ No, just—shut up.”

Charles opened his mouth again, and there was the loud screech of metal on metal.

She was shaking and her fists were balled so tightly her knuckles stood out stark white. “I _loved_ you. I loved you, damnit, I stood by your side and fucking waited and acted nice and you _owned me_. You could have told me. There were _months_ , Charles!” Nothing else could hurt like this, there was nothing else she _would_ let hurt like this, the pain of the last shred of trust fraying. “And then—”

_And then Shaw, and then Cuba, and then Raven, and then and then and then_

They both knew what happened.

“And I left,” she continued, voice shaking worse than she was, “and bloody _hell_ , we were _fucking_ , why the _hell_ didn’t you tell me? You knew it was coming, and you kept it a fucking _secret_!”

Charles leaned forward slightly. “I—I wasn’t sure.”

“You fucking told Mystique,” Erika said quietly, and the room was silent.

She’d just had the news on briefly, seeing if there were any stories to investigate, any new siblings to rescue, and the reporter had been talking about _Professor Charlotte Xavier, famed head of the Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, has filed a name change request and will now be known as Charles. Many are taking this as Professor Xavier’s announcement of being transgender_ , and she’d looked over and Mystique looked surprised but not shocked, and she’d _known_.

“Yes.”

The control unit on the wheelchair exploded, and Erika had just enough control left to keep any shards from going into Charles. “Fuck. You.”

“I grew up with them!” Charles said, not yelling, but displaying far more emotion than he usually did during their fights. “We had the conversation at the same time and I asked them to keep it quiet, I _couldn’t_ come out, Erika, you know why.”

Erika _did_ know why, but right then she didn’t particularly care. “You’re a _telepath_!”

Charles sighed, looking away. “You’re upset because I violated your trust.”

 _Again_ hung unspoken between them.

She shivered, teeth clenched. “Yes,” she said eventually. “You were the first one I told.”

“We came out the same night,” Charles corrected, pedantic as ever. “I remember.”

Erika stepped forward, feeling metal start to hum. “But apparently not all the way!”

Charles stared at her for a second. “Do you have any clue how terrifying it is?” His voice was quiet, with a slight waver when he hit the middle of the sentence.

“Yes.”

The room was silent.

Erika swallowed, keeping her eyes on Charles’s. Yes, of course she knew how terrifying it was, she had come out twice, and yes, it was different, but there was a string of numbers on her arm and he had to know how her gut still twisted every time a sleeve slipped upwards.

Charles sighed. “I am sorry. I misjudged you.”

She looked away. The metal was calming as she was, buckles starting to press flat against her skin. “Give me that,” she said suddenly, just as the silence was starting to throb in her ears.

“What?”

Erika snapped her fingers restlessly, reaching for a word that wasn’t coming. “The—the triangle.”

Charles frowned at her, but tossed the metal triangle in the air.

Erika caught it with her power, and then set it to slowly revolving. It just took a touch to form a slender pin, and another touch to make a bracket. “Here.”

Smiling slightly, Charles took it from the air and pinned it, point down, to the front of his dress shirt. “Now we’re a pair.”

A thought struck Erika, and she sat down on the end of Charles’s bed, head in her hands. “I’m supposed to be _gay_.”

Charles stared at her for a long second, and then burst out laughing.

“Oh shut up.”

Sobering, Charles shook his head. “You are still gay, though. Just with an exception.”

Erika frowned. “I’m bisexual.” The word didn’t sit right in her head. She was a lesbian, she’d known that for years. But she couldn’t be something that excluded Charles.

“If you want that identity,” Charles said quietly.

“Don’t be facetious.”

Charles let his head rest on the back of his chair, looking up at Erika. “You don’t need to define yourself based on me.”

Erika glared at him, one thought running through her head, easily seen if Charles was looking: _Yes I do_.

The silence stretched on long enough that Charles had to be looking. Finally he said, “You broke my chair.”

Erika laughed once, shortly, and fell backwards on the bed. “Oops.”

“Erika.”

She closed her eyes, wishing—briefly—that this could just be a one night thing, that they could sleep together and then go back to fighting tomorrow. “Ask what you want to ask.”

Charles sighed. “I could use your help, old friend.”

She waved a hand. “Don’t you have spares?”

“Not easily accessible.”

She laughed again, this time for longer, and rolled over onto one elbow to look at him. “That wasn’t very clever of you.”

“I wasn’t anticipating that a super-villain would destroy this one after I went to bed,” Charles said.

Sighing, Erika stood up. She put a hand under Charles’s knees, and the other around his shoulders. He was lighter than she remembered, but his supportive grip on her shoulder felt just the same. “Where to?”

Charles raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Have you turned into my chauffeur?”

“I can drop you,” Erika told him.

This time his look was confident. “You won’t.”

Erika sighed and shook her head. “You never answered the question.”

“The closet, ironically.”

She snorted and started walking. They were silent for an instant, until Erika said suddenly, “Will you need assistance?”

 “I am completely capable of dressing myself,” Charles said snippily.

Erika smiled, mentally unlatching the closet door and swinging it open. “I thought I was the one with the temper.”

Charles chuckled. “No, you’re the one with the rubbish helmet.”

“I _will_ drop you.”

“I will never hit the ground.”

Erika cocked an eyebrow. “Going to summon one of your children?”

Charles looked up at her. “No.”

Erika made eye contact, contemplated several ill-advised actions, vetoed them hastily, reminded herself that Charles liked _Homo sapiens_ , and set Charles in the—metal—chair conveniently positioned in the closet. Without saying anything else, she left, swinging the door shut behind her.

The bedroom was quiet. There was enough metal in the mansion that it sung to her, long steel girders forming the supports, screws and nails everywhere, the kitchen a source of bright noises, half the dorm beds made with metal frames. But even the singing couldn’t block out the silence, the lack of any physical noise. Erika paced just to hear her boots against the carpet.

 _All covered_ , Charles’s voice said quietly.

Erika snapped the closet door open, slamming it into the adjoining wall. “Get out of my head.”

Charles winced, looking down. He was in a pair of bland navy pyjamas, the suit discarded on the floor. “My apologies.”

Erika picked him up again, not giving into her urge to demonstrate all the things that _her_ power could do to him.

He gave her a soft look, somehow _still_ seeming in control despite being carried like a child. “It isn’t anything you haven’t seen before.”

“Haven’t had surgery?” Erika asked, falsely casual. She was a _lesbian_ and she could probably delude herself through this if Charles remained the same. Which she didn’t want, not really. She wanted Charles to be himself, just like she wanted— _needed_ —all other mutants to be able to be themselves, but that couldn’t stop the quiet, unhappy thoughts.

Charles laughed sadly as she set him on the bed. “Trust me, it will be all over the news. If you thought this was bad…”

Erika sighed and used the metal bedsprings to vault lightly over Charles. “A thousand reporters asking about the state of your genitals. I don’t envy you.”

“I don’t envy me either.” Charles flipped the blanket over his legs. “Look at us.”

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard.

“A bisexual, aging, disabled, _trans_ mutant and a queer, also aging, Jewish mutant with more crimes to her name than even I can count. What a couple.”

Erika grinned broadly, the same one that often ended up plastered over the internet on a regular basis. “The world ought to be terrified.”

Charles gave her a surprised, fond look. “So they should.” Somehow his hand ended up resting on Erika’s. “So they should.”


End file.
